


Perhaps Not Stolen After All

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Eventual Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, Happy, Jealous Sherlock, POV Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Fluff, Sherlock-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 15:40:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5096087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock encounters Mycroft in Molly’s office and is convinced that Mycroft has an interest in Molly, stealing her away from him, and he is left feeling he has lost his chance with her once and for all. But when he brings it up to Molly, he is surprised to learn he is utterly and completely wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perhaps Not Stolen After All

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a cheer-up fic for a friend of mine, **xisherlis** who wanted some Jealouslock fic with Molly  & Mycroft friendship. I hope this helps!
> 
>  **Edit:** On a personal note, I'm having financial issues with my disability. If you'd like a fic written specifically for you, [consider making a donation](http://penaltywaltz.tumblr.com/post/132060388378/i-am-starting-to-panic-now).

It was very odd to see Mycroft at St. Barts. Usually if Mycroft needed to harangue his friends he picked them up off the streets or was waiting for them in their homes, not visiting them at their place of work. And not being cozy with them in their office, laughing over…something. He was surprised his brother even _knew_ how to laugh. There was a distinct difference between a mirthless chuckle that had all the cheer of a funeral eulogy and an actual laugh, and he hadn’t heard an actual laugh from Mycroft since they were children.

And yet here he was, outside Molly’s office, watching the two of them sip tea and her smile and him laugh.

It was enough to make his blood boil. She was _his_ confidante, _his_ friend, not his brother’s. He should keep…whatever his intentions were with Molly to himself and stay far away from her. Find his own damn goldfish and leave _his_ goldfish alone.

And then he blinked. He was being irrational. Jealous. He was _jealous_. He had no reason to be. Molly was a grown woman who could be friends with anyone she so chose. He had no claim on her. It wasn’t as though he’d admitted he cared beyond friendship. It wasn’t as though he’d said the words that expressed how he truly felt. No, he’d kept those words locked deep in his heart so he wouldn’t be hurt when she gently turned him down. She had moved on, and as she reached over to pat his brother’s hand it seemed as though, once again, his brother had managed to take what he had longed for.

Typical.

He shut his eyes, not wanting to see any more of the scene in there, the coziness of it all. He knocked on the office door to alert them to his presence and then, after a moment, opened his eyes and then opened the door. “Lestrade said you finished the autopsy,” he said quietly.

She gave him a wide smile. “I did! I was just typing up the results when Mycroft stopped by.”

“And I seem to have taken up too much of your time,” Mycroft said, standing up. “But remember, the reservations are for five on Friday, and the dress code is smart casual. The play begins at seven sharp.”

She turned her smile to Mycroft. “I’ll remember that,” she said. “Thank you.”

He nodded, and then turned to Sherlock. “Brother,” he said.

Sherlock could only give him a mild glare. Mycroft collected his coat and his umbrella, and after a moment he had left the office. Sherlock moved to what had been his usual spot in her office, the corner of her desk, and sat down on it. “Interesting plans on Friday?” he asked, trying to be nonchalant.

“Dinner at Kettner’s and tickets to see a hard to get into play,” she said with a smile. “I’d been hoping to see it ever since I heard there was going to be a West End production, and it’s been around for ages but every time I try and go they’ve been sold out for the days I’m available. Mycroft pulled some strings for me, though.”

“I see,” he said quietly, picking up a stapler. He needed to fiddle with something, keep his hands busy. He didn’t want to think about Molly and his brother on a date. He would much rather have it be him and her on a date, but he had dillydallied too long, protected himself from being hurt and for what? To let her slip away. He was such a coward. Such a stupid, stupid coward. “I’m sure you’ll have an enjoyable evening, then,” he said, looking down at the stapler. “He’s usually not great company but I suppose if he pulled strings he’ll be on his best behaviour.”

She gave him a confused look. “Who are you talking about? Mycroft?”

“Yes,” he said slowly. “You two are going on a date, after all. Aren’t you?”

Molly laughed at that. She laughed heartily, for so long that Sherlock started to get annoyed. “Oh…you honestly thought…Mycroft…me and your _brother_? Oh dear God _no_!” She looked up at him and he saw she had laughed so hard she had cried, and she wiped the few tears that had sprung forth away with the back of her hand. “No, no, no. My mum is coming to London for a visit. I did Mycroft an immense favor and so he was paying me back by getting us the reservation at Kettner’s and the tickets to the play.”

Sherlock looked at her. “So you and him aren’t…?”

“Nope,” she said, giving him a grin. “There’s only been one Holmes I’ve ever fancied and it certainly wasn’t Mycroft.”

He relaxed at that for a moment before looking down at the stapler. “Is there any chance you might still fancy that particular Holmes?” he asked, a bit of hesitation in his voice.

“Perhaps,” she said, rolling her desk chair a bit closer to him. “I mean, he is quite handsome, and the personality changes over the last few years have been quite nice, and the fact he was a bit jealous over the fact he thought I fancied his brother is rather cute.” She took the stapler out of his hand and slipped her hands in its place. “I just wonder if he, maybe, fancies me.”

“He does,” he said, running his thumb over her knuckles as he grasped her hands lightly. “He just didn’t want to ruin things, or run the risk of being told that a certain woman’s feelings were no longer more than friendly.”

“Well, they are,” she said. “They have been for quite some time. And that certain woman would like it very much if her preferred Holmes brother would ask her out on a proper date. Preferably tonight, as my plans for the evening were takeaway and wine and crap telly.”

He grinned at that and looked up from their hands and looked at her face, at her wide warm smile and sparkling eyes. He was glad she didn’t fancy Mycroft, that she did still like him, that they were about to take a chance with each other. He grasped her hands a little tighter and gave her a small grin of his own. “Molly, would you do me the honour of accompanying me to dinner this evening?”

“I would like that very much, Sherlock,” she said, her smile getting even wider if that were at all possible. He felt as though there was a lightness in him, a lightness he hadn’t thought possible, and he felt his own smile grow. He had plans to make, and before that he had a killer to catch, but for the moment he could sit here and stare in her eyes and stay in this perfect moment just a little longer.


End file.
